A Very Korra Diwali
by Writingathing
Summary: Korra is the Avatar, master of all four elements of writing. Now she has to master the final element in time to write the school play for the upcoming holiday of Diwali. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Korra, revolution is fomenting among the school's non-writers. Will she be able to bring balance to the school and write a play that keeps the PTA happy?
1. Write a Play to Save the World

The three men trudged through the blizzard toward the houses in the distance. It was probably another false claim. Still, they had to check every lead.

They reached the address they had written down. The leader knocked. A woman in a blue jacket greeted them.

Further inside, a tall man bowed his head. "The White Lotus has honored my family by coming. Thank you."

"We have investigated many claims, both here and in the northern towns," said the leader of the White Lotus group. "All have turned out to be false."

The woman smiled. "Then you should be happy to know your search has come to an end."

The leader was not impressed. "What makes you so sure your daughter is the _one_?"

The woman's smile grew wider. "Korra! Please come in here!"

Something struck the leader in the head; by instinct he caught it. It was a wadded-up ball of paper. The leader unfolded it and looked at what was written.

_I'm the Avatar. Yu hav got too deel wif it!_

The leader looked up. A small girl stood by the doorway. Her shirt didn't quite stretch to cover her protruding belly, and her hands rested on her cocked hips. No, not rested. Just - waiting. Ready. To...

"Ow! Ow, ow!"

The girl's arms were a blur, and paper balls filled the air, pelting the White Lotus leader and his men. In every wad of paper was a poem, on every page was a story. Each stung. And the barrage continued -

* * *

"Ow! Ow, ow!"

The grammar teacher ducked and raised his arms to protect himself from the fleet of paper airplanes that swooped and dived at his face.

"Korra! Korra, stop!"

Korra relented, although she still gripped a paper airplane and had several more waiting in the desk. The grammar teacher peeked through his fingers. Cautiously he unfolded one of the paper planes. Then another, and a third.

"These...these are all correct," he said. "Conjugation, word choice, singular and plural...everything."

He looked at her. "You are a true grammar master."

Korra pumped her fists in the air. "Whoo-hoo! Three elements down, only one to go."

Only Katara, her old syntax master, congratulated her. The rest of the onlookers whispered among themselves. The leader of the White Lotus, his hair much grayer after ten years of watching over Korra's training, spoke.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Korra. Ever since you were a little girl you've excelled at the technical side of writing but completely ignored the metaphorical side. The Avatar must master both."

"I've heard that lecture like a thousand times," Korra said. "The Avatar is the bridge between the literal and figurative worlds, yada yada yada. But that's why I should start training with Tenzin immediately. He's Mister Metaphorical himself."

"Hmm. What do you think, Master Katara?"

The elderly poet nodded. "I think she's ready."

"Very well," the leader said. "Korra, you will begin your spelling training with Tenzin."

"Yes! Finally! Ahem." She pressed her fist against her open palm and bowed. "I mean, thank you all for believing in me." Still, she couldn't quite keep a grin from breaking out as she ran to tell her dog the news.

* * *

Tenzin was the school and the world's only master of spelling. Korra had learned the history of the spellers a dozen times over, seen all the videos and read every book on the subject. How the nation of grammarians had wiped out the world's spellers in a surprise attack. How only Tenzin's father, Aang, had escaped. Aang, the previous Avatar, master of all four elements of writing, who wrote a story so powerful and moving that he ended the war. Soldiers broke down and wept. The terrible Grammar Lord Ozai himself was so affected that he never wrote again. _Appa's Lost Days_, it was called, and Korra knew she wasn't ready to write something like _that_. Still, the world was at peace now. What Korra would write, she didn't know yet.

Tenzin was tall, and he gazed down at her. "So my mother, Master Katara, informed me that you've never been able to spell a word correctly."

"Not if I can't sound it out," Korra admitted. "The other elements came so easily, but every single time I've tried spelling a word correctly...nothing. It just doesn't work."

"That's all right," Tenzin said. "You just need to be patient. Often the element the Avatar struggles with most is the one most opposite to her personality. For Aang, it was punctuation. After the free-spirited nature of spelling and the smooth, flowing nature of syntax, he struggled with the unforgiving, sometimes arbitrary rules of the comma and the semicolon."

"Yeah, well, I'm about as opposite a speller as you can get."

Tenzin smiled. "Well, let's begin your first lesson."

Tenzin set some sort of contraption on the desk in front of her. From a central pole extended numerous wires, and on every wire a wooden block dangled. Words were written on each block. It reminded Korra of toys she had played with as a child.

Tenzin jostled the device, and it shook. "This is the Tree of Spelling, a time-honored tool that teaches some of the fundamental aspects of spelling. Spin the Tree, and select a block. There is a definition of a word. On the back of the block is the correct spelling of the word. Try to spell it correctly. But the goal of this exercise is not to learn the spellings of different words, but to adopt the attitude of a speller."

"The attitude?"

Tenzin spun the device. "Notice how the leaves of the Tree of Spelling flutter and sway in the wind. Be the leaf. Spelling is difficult. You must learn not to resist the true spelling of the words, but to accept and roll with the correct spelling, no matter how hard your instinct tells you the word should be spelled a different way. Do you understand?"

"Let's do this," Korra said.

"Then spin the Tree of Spelling."

Korra spun the Tree. She peered at the wooden block that stopped in front of her. "Winding in a continuous curve."

"The word is 'spiral,'" Tenzin said.

"Okay." Korra thought. "S-P-Y-R-A-L."

"Not quite," Tenzin said gently. "S-P-I-R-A-L."

Korra frowned. That didn't seem right. She spun the Tree again. "A flattened structure of a higher plant, typically green and bladelike."

"Leaf," Tenzin said.

"L-E-E-F."

"L-E-A-F," Tenzin corrected.

Korra paused, her hand on the tree. "Why? How come sometimes it's E-E and sometimes it's E-A?"

"That is the way of things," Tenzin said. "Do not resist the direction the word flows in, but instead step with it in a spiral motion. Korra, the spelling of the thousands of different words that create our language are like the many stars that create the constellations. Spellers learn to see words as part of a wider pattern that spiral about a central point like our own galaxy, the Milky Way. Have you ever seen the stars, Korra? The light pollution is bad here in the city."

"I went on a camping trip with my dad once," Korra said, remembering the incredible sight of the stars wrapping around the heavens.

"Words are like stars, Korra."

"Oh. Wait, _what_?"

"Spin the Tree again."

Korra did so. "A system of millions or billions of stars, held together by gravity."

"Galaxy, Korra."

"G-A-L-A-K-S-E-E."

Tenzin sighed.

* * *

Korra was too exhausted to concentrate in school the next day. She had stayed up all night spelling words with Tenzin, not that it did any good. Eventually she had memorized the spellings of a few words by sheer repetition, but she couldn't spell anything she hadn't failed at half a dozen times before. Eventually Tenzin had acknowledged that they couldn't just have her memorize the entire dictionary and suggested she get some sleep. Now Korra scribbled poems in her notebook while the teacher droned on about trigonometry.

Korra sat in the back row by the door. A few students in front of her were whispering. Something about a party. Korra pressed her face against the desk and continued to write. The Avatar didn't get invited to many parties. Something about being the reincarnated avatar of an ancient spirit who was destined to bring balance to the world kept her out of the loop. All the special classes she had to take and the constant swarm of White Lotus guards around her didn't help.

The teacher was still going on. Something about cosines. Korra looked sideways at her poems. The words were all misspelled, she knew. Her pen skidded down the page, not even drawing words, just lines at random. In front of her, a few students laughed quietly at a shared joke. The pen dug too hard and tore the paper.

Korra bumped into someone on the way to her locker, and she dropped her books and pens on the floor.

"Sorry," she muttered, bending over to gather her things.

"My bad," a voice said. Korra looked up, and her heart skipped a beat. Mako, a senior, was kneeling down on the floor in front of her, picking up her pens. "Here, these are yours."

Korra stared. "What - what's up? Hey. Hey there. How's it going?"

Mako held out the pens. "These are yours," he repeated.

Korra started. "Oh, yeah. Thanks." She took the pens. As her fingers brushed against his, an electric thrill ran through her. She tried to catch his eye, to laugh, but he was already up and walking away with a group of his friends. She watched him until his scarf disappeared down the stairs, and then she hurried to her locker, late for her next class.

Someone new was there at her after-school lesson with Tenzin. A young, serious-looking girl with short brown hair.

"Korra, this is my oldest daughter, Jinora," Tenzin said.

"Hi," Korra said. "I'm Korra."

Jinora bowed. "It's an honor to meet you, Avatar Korra."

"Uh, yeah." Korra hated when people got stiff around her just because of her status.

"I have been teaching Jinora how to spell since she was little," Tenzin said. "I thought it might help you to have someone to train with. Let's begin." He took out the Tree of Spelling and placed it in front of them. "Jinora, why don't you go first?"

Jinora spun the Tree. "A condition in which different elements are equal. Balance."

B-A-L-A-N-S, Korra thought.

"B-A-L-A-N-C-E," Jinora said.

"Very good, Jinora. Korra?"

Korra spun the Tree. "A structure carrying a path across an obstacle."

"Bridge," Tenzin said.

"B-R-I-J."

"Almost. Jinora?"

"B-R-I-D-G-E."

"Very good."

"Okay, that makes no sense," Korra said.

"Korra, try to feel the pattern in your mind. When you meet resistance, switch directions. Flow with the word, and not against it."

"_What_?"

"Jinora, your turn."

Jinora spun the Tree. "Achieved without great effort. Easy."

E-E-Z-E-E, Korra thought.

"E-A-S-Y."

"Excellent."

"But _why_?" Korra asked again. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"Be the leaf," Jinora said.

"Let the constellation of the language fill your mind," Tenzin said.

"Um. I'm just going to spin this again. Incapable of producing any result, pointless."

"Futile."

"F-U-T-A-L."

"Lack of success."

"Failure."

"F-A-L-E-Y-U-R."

"Not able to be done."

"Impossible."

"I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-A-L."

Tenzin sighed. "Nearly. Jinora?"

"I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E," Jinora said smartly.

"I can't do it!" Frustration and embarrassment burned in the pit of her stomach. "I don't know how Jinora can spell all these words, but I can't!"

"Patience, Korra," Tenzin said. "Relax your mind and roll with the natural motion of the words."

"I don't know what that means!" Korra shouted. "Nothing you're saying makes any sense. Aargh!" Something inside of her burst, and she ripped apart the branches of the Tree of Spelling, twisting the wires and scattering the wooden blocks around the room. She hurled what remained of it away, panting furiously, as she slowly realized what she had done.

Tenzin stared in horror at the wreckage. "That was a two thousand year-old historical treasure! What...what is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Korra said. "I've been practicing just like you taught me, but it isn't sinking in, okay? It hasn't clicked like you said it would!"

Tenzin breathed, trying to calm himself. "Korra, this isn't something you can force. If you would only listen to me..."

"I have been! But you know what I think? Maybe the problem isn't me! Maybe the reason I haven't learned spelling yet is because _you're_ a terrible teacher!" Without waiting for an answer, Korra stood up and strode out of the room.

Jinora looked at the scattered pieces of the Tree of Spelling. "The Avatar seems nice."

Tenzin grunted.

* * *

The next day Bolin was waiting by Korra's locker.

"Korra!" He waved at her.

"Oh, hey Bolin." Korra slung her bag down by her locker. Bolin was the only person her age who ever talked to her regularly. In fact, he was the only person who talked to her regularly about something other than Avatar stuff.

"Heard you passed your grammar test," Bolin said. He held up a hand, and she slapped it. "Congratulations! Now you're a grammarian like Mako."

Bolin's older brother. "Yeah, I guess so. Just spelling left now."

"So how're lessons with Tenzin going? That must be pretty cool. The world's only master of spelling!"

"Sure, it's all right."

Bolin leaned against the lockers. "So you still up for punctuation training later?"

"Yeah."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

Morning class was interrupted by a PA announcement about a writer for the school play for the winter. Korra only half-listened. The Avatar wasn't allowed to compete in things like that. Wasn't fair to all the other kids.

The day passed slowly. Korra considered not showing up to her spelling lesson with Tenzin. But she would have to show up eventually or else not become a speller at all. So Korra walked into the classroom, bowed her head, and murmured her apology.

Tenzin held up a hand. "Two thousand year-old artifacts that can't be fixed don't become two thousand year-old artifacts. No real harm was done."

"So you're not mad?"

"Korra, I am the only spelling master in the world, and you are the Avatar. I hardly have the luxury of becoming angry with you. No, as your teacher, it is my duty to make your training work for you however that needs to happen."

Korra digested this, hiding her surprise. "So what needs to happen?"

"I've spoken to a number of your former masters, including my mother. They all agree that you learn best with hands-on experience, not through repetitive drills or mind-numbing theory. So you'll be writing the school play."

Korra blinked. "Wait, what?"

Tenzin's face was completely serious. "Sink or swim, Korra, and I expect you to swim. It's in only three months, so you'll need to write quickly so we can get a cast together and be ready in time. But if this is going to work, the actors will need to be able to read what you've written."

Korra got it. "Which means I'll have to spell all the words correctly." It was a good idea, and exciting. She had never gotten to, well, _do_ anything with her abilities. "But I thought I wasn't allowed to. It's not fair or whatever."

"Oh, you're not breaking any rules if I'm just showing blatant favoritism," Tenzin said with a straight face. "I could show blatant favoritism to _anyone_."

Korra grinned.

"So," Tenzin said when Korra just stood there, smiling, "The school board wants a play that tells the story of Diwali. The story of how the hero, Prince Rama, did battle with the terrible demon Ravana -"

"Yes, Tenzin, I know the story of Diwali."

"Well, some of our readers might not."

"There's just one thing I want," Korra said. "Full creative control."

"Of course."

"And I want it in writing."

Tenzin groaned. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

* * *

The bell rang, and the students filed out.

"Just a minute, Noatak," Madame Macmu-Ling, the Composition teacher said. A boy near the end of the shuffling line stepped aside.

"Noatak, I enjoyed the essay you turned in. This, uh, prescriptivism, as you call it, is a very interesting idea. I've been thinking about it. While I can't say I agree, the idea that there's no right way for a written language to work, there's only the way that it _does_ work, is quite intriguing."

"Not everyone was born a writer," the boy said quietly. "But everyone has a story to tell."

"And you're not a punctuationist, or a syntaxer, or anything?"

The boy hesitated. "No."

"But you still think you can write something as good as - as good as anyone. The Avatar, even."

"No one can write as well as the Avatar," the boy said.

"But you'd like to try."

"I think...I think that there shouldn't be any separation between what a language is, and how it's written and spoken."

"Descriptivism, you call it."

"That's right."

The teacher smiled broadly. "I am inclined to take you up on this. Even though you're not a writer, why don't you sign up to write the school play?"

"Me? A non-writer?"

"Certainly. Why not, aside from your inability to use syntax, grammar, punctuation, or spelling properly?"

* * *

"You're going to be writing the school play?" Bolin held up a hand for her to high-five. "That's awesome!"

She slapped his hand. "Yeah, and I'm going to need you to be the lead, Prince Rama."

"I am so in."

"Cool, so, uh, think Mako will want to sign up?"

"Hm," Bolin said. "My brother is not so expressive."

"Yeah, well, it's just that we need anyone, really," Korra said. "Anyway, I have a lot of writing to do, so I'll have to miss punctuation practice."

Bolin just shrugged. "Hey, that's fine. Do what you have to do. I can't wait to see the finished script."

The instant Korra was home she flung herself down in front of her computer. She knew the story of Diwali backwards and forwards, but she also knew that she didn't want to tell your standard Prince Beats Demon and Rescues Girlfriend Hooray Fireworks And Candy story. No, this would be a very special _Korra_ Diwali. With action and romance and special effects...

Korra hunched over and began typing.

* * *

Noatak stared at the sheet of paper on the bulletin board.

**School Winter Play**

_Sign up here!_

_Writer:_ Korra

_Director:_ Korra

_Primary Choreographer: _Korra

**Auditions**

_Prince Rama: _Bolin, Shu, Obbuk

_Sita_: Asami

And on and on. Noatak's eyes slid down the entire sheet and then back up to the top. Writer. Korra. So there hadn't been any kind of try-out or competition for the role. It had just been given. To the Avatar.

Of course.

And Noatak knew then that no matter how much the teachers talked about fairness and the rules ostensibly treated writers and non-writers equally, there would be always special treatment for writers, for those with birthrights, for those connected to power and wealth.

There was no point in playing the game when the game was stacked against you. No point in playing the game when the other team would be given the win by default. No, when a group of people could no longer move forward while playing by the rules...

It was time for revolution.


	2. Mako and Bolin

Mako didn't like to be, well, _looked_ at. He froze up in front of a crowd. Bolin teased him about it.

"The champion boxer isn't afraid to take a punch, but he's too nervous to give a speech in front of an audience? You fight in front of hundreds of screaming people. How is it any different?"

But it was different. In the ring, it was just him and his opponent. Everything else fell away. Once the bell rang, he didn't even hear the noise of the crowd until his opponent's body's hit the floor. And afterwards, when someone shoved a microphone in his face while people chanted his name, well, that was different too. In the aftermath of victory, flushed with triumph and dripping with sweat, nothing could disturb his equilibrium, and it didn't matter how many people were looking at him. But outside of the ring, Mako was a different person. He acted cool with his friends so that even when all the attention was on him, it wasn't _him_, it was Mako, Boxing Champion, Confirmed Stud and Number One Hottie. How many other guys in school wore scarves because Mako was never seen without one even in summer?

Around Bolin, his younger brother, Mako was a third person: Serious Protective Older Brother. He watched after Bolin, watched him do his homework, made sure there was food in the house, something cooked with vegetables. As an amateur, technically Mako couldn't be paid, but he could be allowed to work in a "training facility" that just happened to be located in an apartment room. So Mako had been able to take himself and Bolin out of the orphanage and into a real home, cheap and bare as it was. As long as he kept winning, the gifts came: food, movie tickets, furniture, even cash, wildly illegal as it was. So Mako made sure Bolin had a good home, best as he was able. As long as he kept winning.

But Bolin had a way of cutting through Serious Protective Older Brother Mako to the Mako that Mako thought of as...Mako, and Mako was a kid who liked snowball fights and ridiculous deserts Bolin made out of cream and pickles. As far as Mako could tell, Bolin was Bolin _all the time_, and Bolin was honest and good and kind. He came to every one of Mako's matches, holding a banner with something dumb written on it and screaming "Mak-O, Mak-O!" Bolin was really popular, not popular like Mako, who was treated with gravity and awe and deference, but Bolin was truly liked and respected by everyone, and he moved among different cliques and classes as with the grace of a boxer's footwork. He even somehow befriended the Avatar, that weird girl who wrote all the time and didn't talk to anyone and took all those special classes. That was Bolin, who cut through all pretensions and boundaries and got to people in ways that should have been impossible. So naturally he had gotten to Mako as well.

"Korra's writing the school play," Bolin said as Mako pounded the sandbag hanging from the rafters. "For Diwali."

Mako didn't stop punching. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. He breathed and let his fists fall to his side. "Who? Oh, the Avatar. Great. You going to audition or something?"

"Yeah, she said I could be Prince Rama." Bolin lounged in the chair like a cat. "Isn't having connections great?"

"Congrats, bro," Mako said. "Can't wait to see you in it."

"There's a lot of parts. Diwali's a big story. You could be Hanuman, the monkey king who helps Prince Rama defeat the evil Ravana -"

"I know the story of Diwali, Bolin."

"Well, some of our readers might not. Or, actually, what would really work is if you were Lakshmana, his brother."

"Lakshmana? Wait, which Diwali story is she doing?"

"Uh," Bolin smiled nervously, "You could be Kali? Goddess of Destruction? Always cool."

"I'm a guy, and no. Which Diwali story is it?"

"Can't we just pretend that there's only one?"

Fifty-nine, sixty. Mako started hitting the sandbag again. "Not...really! You'll just...make everyone...mad! By...appropriating...and then misrepresenting," he grunted, "Their culture!"

"Yeah, Bolin sighed. "I'm probably getting in way over my head. I mean, what do I know about anything? If only someone involved was looking after me."

"Nice try, Bolin, but I'm not going to sign up for the play just to get a chance to babysit you."

"Why not? It'll be fun. The Avatar's first play! This is really exciting stuff! What if you had a chance to act in the very first performance of _Appa's Lost Days_?"

Mako hadn't looked at it like that. Come to think of it, what else had the Avatar in her current life ever written? All that training had to be going to _something_. This could be big. This could be bigger than big.

"You're thinking about it!" Bolin said gleefully.

Mako grimaced, slammed a vicious left hook into the sandbag. "I don't like acting."

"Really? Seems like all you ever do is act."

Mako caught the sandbag as it swung back toward him. He looked at Bolin. "What does that mean?"

Bolin didn't back down. "The awesome Mako I know isn't the cool Mako everyone at school knows, or even the champion Mako in the gym."

"Not everyone can be like you, Bolin."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Didn't he see? Didn't he understand that Mako was who he was to provide for Bolin? How what little freedom and wealth they had hung on a razor's edge, and the money and gifts came in just as much because of the image Mako presented as the consistent wins. People didn't want a winner, they wanted a _champion_. Well, that's what Mako gave them, and if Bolin didn't understand why Mako was doing it, well, that was just part of being an older brother.

"You're thinking you do it for me," Bolin said. "But there's no coaches or talent scouts sneaking into the school and watching you in the halls. Don't kid yourself, Mako, I know why we have all this, and it's because you're a great boxer. It's not because you're Mr. HBOC."

Mako started to say something, and then he stopped. Bolin was right. He hadn't given him enough credit. He had been so concerned with taking care of Bolin that he hadn't realized that Bolin was growing up too. Well, an older brother can admit when he's wrong. "Fine, you're right. I'll always be straight with you, I promise. But you have to realize how...fragile this all is. If I lose one fight, it's over."

"I don't see what that has to do with Mr. HBOC," Bolin said dryly. "Great boxers aren't good looking. Maybe they were before they started boxing, but pretty faces don't last in the ring."

"It's part of being a champion, Bolin, I can't just win fights, I have to draw a crowd, to be _interesting _-"

"So make sure everyone gets a good look at your face before it gets smashed to pieces," Bolin said, and something caught it his voice. "Better work hard on being _interesting_ so that by the time you're brain damaged from a dozen concussions, it's become second nature."

Mako slapped a hand against the sandbag. "We've talked about this, Bolin, boxing is a contact sport! Of course it's dangerous, basketball is dangerous, so what! This is what I do, this is who I am!"

"You're so busy worrying about me you never stop to think that maybe I worry about you," Bolin said. He was standing now, and breathing heavily. "I know all the statistics, I know what happens to boxers after a few years. Well, I don't like _interesting_ Mako. I think he's boring. I like Mako, and when his brain gets knocked around so hard that he gets stuck forever, I want him to be stuck my brother!"

Mako hated fighting with Bolin more than anything, but he didn't want to back down either. "Weren't we talking about that dumb play? What does any of this have to do with that?"

"I want you to act in it. You're a senior, it's your last chance."

Mako tried to joke. "Hey, you've already got the lead role."

"I'll give it to you. You want it? It's yours."

Mako looked away. "I don't want your part, Bolin. You know I don't like all that public speaking stuff."

"I want you to act in the play so that you can become my brother no matter - no matter what happens to you."

"You want me to pretend to be other people so I can be myself? Hey, I thought that's what you didn't like about me."

"And you want to get beaten to a pulp to take care of me. Paradoxes run in the family, I guess."

"I'll see if there are any minor roles. Demon #2 or whatever."

Bolin knew he had won. "I'll get Korra to turn Demon #2 into a main character."

"Do that and I'll paste you to a wall." They were back in safe, familiar territory, and Mako resumed beating the sandbag while Bolin fished a piece of bread out of their small pantry.

That's how Mako found himself walking down the hall toward the bulletin board with the sign-up sheet for the school play...and past it. What was Bolin thinking? This was crazy. No, no, he had promised. It couldn't hurt just to sign up. He could back out later. So he walked back to the sign-up sheet, looked down the list of names.

Oh, no. No no no.

Mako hurriedly stepped away and collided with a body. He fell back and she fell down.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! I didn't see you!" He bent over and offered his hand. She took it and let him pull her up. Her hand was soft and smooth, and her skin was pale. Her lips were cherry red and her hair as dark as night, and her face was beautiful.

"What?"

"I said, watch where you're going, you big oaf." She smiled to show it was a joke. "No harm done. I'm Asami."

"I'm Mako," he said, aware that he was staring and not sure how to stop without looking away. "I don't usually knock people over."

She laughed. Then her eyes widened. "Wait, you're Mako? I knew I recognized your face. You're a champion boxer!"

"I do okay," Mako blushed, and he was horrified to realize that he was blushing.

"Okay? You do absolutely spectacular. I'm a big fan!"

"Oh, perfect, because I always try to run over my fans."

Somehow she laughed and _tossed her hair_, and the world slowed down to let Mako watch her dark hair flutter around her face. She noticed the sign-up sheet. "You were going to sign up for the school play?"

Mako's whole body jerked. "Uh, no, I mean, yes, well, you see, my brother, he, uh -"

"That's great! I'm auditioning to be Sita. I just wanted to see if anyone else had signed up to audition for the same part."

Mako looked at the sheet. "Looks like you're safe." He laughed. "I mean, who would want to compete with you?"

She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Huh? No, uh, just, I'm sure you're a really good actor. I mean, you convinced a guy who knocked you down that you're his fan."

She laughed. "So who are you thinking of auditioning for?"

"Uhhh..." Mako peered at the list. "Demon number two..."

Asami took a pen and wrote down his name next to "Demon Ravana."

"That way," she said, "You get to kidnap me."

Mako stared. "Uh. What? Yes. Uh, no, I didn't - huh?"

She patted his arm. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

Mako watched her walk away. Then, with a start, he realized he was late for class and dashed in the opposite direction.


	3. Writing and Rewriting and Sluts

Holding a script in one hand and gesticulating wildly with the other, Bolin knelt on one knee and _acted_.

"Oh, Sita, darling, my beloved, I will hunt the demons in the forest to earn your love." He clenched a fist and looked up dramatically. "So that we may be wedded and peace be brought to our land."

"Oh, Rama, you're just the grandest," Korra said in an artificially high-pitched voice from where she sat in the chairs in front of the stage. "Go get 'em, sweety. Well," she said in a normal voice, "I think we've seen enough. Thanks for coming in. We'll have the results posted on the bulletin board next week." She winked at him.

He winked back. "I'm just happy to have to chance to audition for Korra's first play."

Tenzin glanced back and forth between them. "Why are you two winking at each other?"

"Next!" Korra called.

More auditioners came and went. Korra jotted down her assessment of their acting, singing, dancing, and, above all else, ability to parse the written text of her script. Yet as time went on she found herself looking again and again at a single unbelievable name on the sheet. Would he really come in, or was it just a joke?

Near the end of the day, as Tenzin tried to hide a yawn, Mako stumbled onto the stage as if someone had pushed him. He blinked stupidly at Korra and Tenzin and raised a hand in greeting. "Uh, hi, I'm Mako, here to audition for the part of demon, uh," he glanced at something offstage, "Demon Ravana."

Korra fought down the rising panic and urged her heart to still. "Take that script lying there and give us a reading starting from page 25."

Mako flipped to the page and coughed uncomfortably. "Uh, right. OK. Uh, 'I am," he paused, "Demon Ravana. Grr. Lo, I shall send my demons forth, grr, and take Sita for my one."

"Own," Korra said.

"Oh, sorry. For my own." He looked up. "How was that?"

"Gorgeous."

"Could you try looking out at us when you do the reading?" Tenzin said. "And can you try acting? In any way?"

"Good idea!" Korra said. "Try reading from page 71, and look at me while you're reading it. Imagine I'm Sita."

Mako nodded stiffly. "Yes, uh, OK. Ahem. 'Oh, Sita, you are so, uh, byoo, uh..."

"Beautiful," Korra supplied.

"Oh, okay. Sita you are so beautiful. Be mine.'"

Korra nodded.

Tenzin stared at the glazed expression on her face. "Korra? Aren't you going to read Sita's lines?"

"What? Oh, right. 'I'll never be yours,'" Korra said in a high falsetto, "'My prince will come to save me.'"

"Never," Mako said. He flipped the page and coughed. "You...might? as well just give your hart to me.'" He looked up. "She has a deer?"

"What?"

"Never mind. 'Sita, you are my only.'"

"Yeah," Korra said.

Mako glanced down at the script. "Uh, it's your line."

"I'm improvising," Korra said in her normal voice. "Go with it." She put on the falsetto again. "Oh, Demon Ravana, I despair of rescue! Take me as your bride."

"Um...ok? Sure thing, Sita. Let's -"

"Eyes on me, Mako."

"Right. Uh, forsooth, let's forget about that Rama guy and get married."

Korra sighed.

Tenzin waved a hand in front of Korra's face ineffectively and finally turned to Mako. "Thank you very much, Mr," he glanced at the sign-up sheet, "Mako. The results will be posted on the bulletin board next week. Next, please!"

Korra blinked out of her reverie as Mako exited the stage. As he neared the end a hand snaked out and took hold of his red scarf.

"You were great out there," a female voice said.

"No, it was terrible, I can't do stuff like this at all," Mako said back.

"Wish me luck."

"You're the only one auditioning for the part!"

A tall, beautiful girl with dark black hair stepped confidently onto the stage. "Hi, I'm Asami Sato, auditioning for the part of Sita. What should I read? Or would you rather hear me sing?"

"You're too pale," Korra said instantly. "Sita was much browner." She gestured at her own dark brown face to demonstrate.

Asami smiled uncertainly. "I'm sure people won't mind. Besides, makeup can make me browner. I really don't mind if it's for the show."

"Oh, they'll mind." Korra drummed her fingers on the table. "They'll mind all right. They'll say that we're racebending."

"Oh, well, um, most people auditioning are pale like me, right? Since only people with Water Tribe ancestry are brown-skinned, and..."

"Oh, so you're saying I'm brown-skinned? You sound like a racebender."

Asami held up her hands defensively. "No, no, I -"

"Not off to a good start, are you?" Korra scribbled a note on her pad of paper. "Oh, well. Let's get this over with. Open to page 14 and read Sita's lines."

Asami found the page. "'Ooh, the Dandaka forest seems like a good place for us to vacation. What do you say, Ra -"

"Great, thanks, that's enough." Korra scribbled further on her pad of paper, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. "The results will be posted on the bulletin board in a week. Don't hold your breath."

"But," Asami wrapped a finger around a curl of her beautiful, shiny hair that curled elegantly around her shoulders. Instinctively, Korra touched her own hair, a straight, dry clump pulled back in a utilitarian fashion. "I'm the only one auditioning, right? For the part of Sita?"

"We might end up cutting the character, or pulling a spare hand like the writer or the director to handle her minor role," Korra said dismissively.

"But you're the writer _and_ the director -"

"Next!"

"That seems to be the last of them," Tenzin said. "Well, we have quite a difficult task ahead of ourselves."

"Already picked them," Korra said, staring moodily at the notes she had scrawled under each aspiring actor's name, knowing it was all terribly misspelled. Under Bolin's name she had drawn a ferret surrounded by flames, an old joke between the two of them.

"That works out well, actually," Tenzin said. "I want to discuss the script you've written at our lesson after school today. Not spelling errors, although there are quite a few, but more...metaphorical problems, you could say. Or a lack of them."

"I already know I'm going to make a bunch of changes to the plot," Korra said. "For one, Sita gets her head shaved as a sign of her chastity."

"Korra, everyone is beautiful in their own way, and -"

"Then she dies. And Prince Ravana marries someone offstage."

"_Demon_ Ravana."

"What'd I say?"

* * *

After school ended, Korra and Tenzin took apart the script and scattered the pages on the ground in front of them.

"Here's what I mean." Tenzin pointed at page 36. "Read this."

"'I'm Prince Rama and I'm going to beat the Demon Ravana and save my beautiful wife Sita,'" Korra read.

"It's a bit literal, don't you think?"

"It's clarity. It's exposition."

"But I think it's already been established who Rama is and what his relationships to these characters are. For example," he pointed at another page, "Here Sita says, if I'm not misreading this, 'I am Sita, Prince Rama's beautiful and chaste wife. I hope I don't get kidnapped by any demons.'"

"Yeah, I'm thinking about changing a lot of Sita's dialogue. For example, maybe she could instead say there, 'I'm Sita, Prince Rama's evil traitorous wife and Queen of Demons.'"

Tenzin paused. "Interesting, but I don't think it really addresses my concerns. Your characters and writing are all far too literal."

"What do you mean?"

"Take the scene where Prince Rama woos Sita. He says, 'Oh Sita, you are very pretty. Like a beautiful thing that I desire when I look upon it, so you too are visually pleasing.' What if instead of being so straightforward, he compares her to a rose?"

Korra's eyes widened. "Like something stereotypically beautiful but actually quite boring. So Prince Ravana -"

"Demon Ravana -"

"- Realizes that he actually wants a less traditionally beautiful but much more interesting flower, like the orchid!"

"Maybe," Tenzin said slowly, "But that's not exactly my point. Look at the epic poetry battle between Prince Rama and Ravana at the climax. It was very well done, by the way, battle scenes are clearly your strong suit -"

"Thank you."

"- But again, the lyrics are very literal. Prince Rama says, 'Demon Ravana you are very lame/Of your behavior you should be ashamed.'"

"It's fierce! The sparks are flying!"

"It lacks creativity, Korra."

Korra frowned. "Creativity? That's not one of the elements."

"No, but it is also something essential to the Avatar. Even though spelling is nothing more than a set of arbitrary and confusing rules that you must memorize and adhere to rigidly, spelling is also the element of freedom. Freedom to innovate, to break the boundaries of the established patterns of history and the stories that came before us as long as you spell things exactly as you're supposed to."

"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"Korra, is this the story that you really want to tell? Is this the story that's in your heart, that bubbles out and flows through your arm down your hand and into the pen and drips out in ink and blood mixed together on the parchment? Or is it the story that you think you're supposed to tell, the story others have laid out for you, a story that follows the established patterns that you were raised on and have surrounded you your entire life, a story that is not a story at all but a series of familiar and unremarkable events connected only by a thread of temporal continuity?"

Korra blinked. "Yes. That one."

Tenzin gathered up the scattered pages of the script and handed them to her. "This is not your story. Something is holding you back. Release your energy and let it carry you like a leaf in the wind."

"I tried that! But this is how it comes out when I write."

"You have to find a way to be less literal. Get in touch with your spiritual side. Let your writing soar like the dragon bird."

"Okay. I'll do that, Tenzin."

"Look at some examples of writing online. There's some very creative and figurative things being published on the Internet these days."

Two days later Korra handed Tenzin a new script. As he read the first page and turned to the second, his face turned sallow, and he covered his mouth.

"Korra, this is violently pornographic."

"I looked at stories on the Internet like you said."

"Don't, uh, don't. Don't. Ever." He handed the script back to her. "You misspelled - never mind."

* * *

At the end of the week Korra posted the results of the audition to the bulletin board.

"Mako?" Tenzin sighed. "Really?"

"He has panache."

"Panache is the opposite of what he has. Do you even know what that means?"

"I tried looking it up," Korra admitted, "But I didn't know how it was spelled."

"Hm. Noatak for Lakshmana? Good choice. His reading was inspired."

"Good singing voice too," Korra mused. "And he has the right look. Not that I'm a racebender or anything."

* * *

Word getting out that Mako and Asami Sato were starring in the school play, written by the Avatar herself, the school play received a boost in popularity, sucking it up from the forgotten dregs of the school into a vortex of uncertainty. Now guys found themselves wondering if they were supposed to learn how to sing and dance, and girls delighted in bootlegged copies of the latest script, cackling viciously in class every time -

"I am such an evil slut," Asami said. "Such an evil, evil slut. My heart is black. Now to shave my head bald for my demon lovers." She put down the script and looked at Korra. "I'm not really going to have to shave my head, am I?"

"That's just part of the business," Korra replied.

"And I really don't feel like my character would say...any of this, really."

"You should have seen the second draft. Hey, Demon Ravana! How do you like the script?"

Mako started from where he was sitting by the wall. "Good."

"Well, I don't like it," Asami said.

"It's not good," Mako said.

"I think it's great!" Bolin said. "I love Prince Rama's speeches. 'My heart is as true as my arrows. Only Sita is the one for me!' 'Lakshmana, harken! For we set off like the eagle to yonder demon's forest to slay the evil one and bring peace to our land."

Noatak smiled. "Our words will pierce the demon's scales, and ink will mix with blood on the parchment of battle."

"Wow, you've memorized the script already?"

The boy smiled was modest. "I enjoy studying the work of our newest Avatar."

"Quit standing around!" Korra snapped. "Let's rehearse. Everyone get into positions for the number 'Sita Is A Stupid Slut.' Bolin, you're a baritone, so try to sound like one. Mako, since you have the least experience, why don't you come over here and we'll work on some of your lines one-on-one."

"But he's in this number," Asami objected.

"So? You're an actor, aren't you? Just act like he's calling you a slut."

Asami crossed her arms angrily, but the young boy playing King Janaka was already kneeling downstage. He began to sing:

_I had a daughter_

_Light of my life_

_But then I caught her_

_Out late one night_

_And what did I seeeeeeee? _

_(What did you seeeee?) _three milkmaids sang.

_I saaaaw_

_I saw Sita, Sita_

_Sita being a slut!_

_Boys tried to meet her_

_'Cuz she was a slut_

_Her name was Sita, Sita  
_

_And all she did was rut_

_(Hey!)_

Now the extras all chimed in.

_Sita, Sita, sluttiest of sluts_

_Only the avatar of Lakshmi_

_Could ever be so needy_

_For lots and lots and lots and lots_

_(and lots and lots and lots and lots)_

_And lots and lots and lots and lots_

_Of slutty rutty slutty stuff_

Now individuals sang their lines:

_A goatsherd from Mumbai_

_Four guys in Chennai_

_A mayor from Delhi_

_Bachelors in Guwahati_

Now the music slowed down and Bolin came in:

_Oh, Sita, Sitaaaaaaaaaaa!_

_Oh Sita, only a woman with an appetite as voracious as yours_

_Could ever satisfy the avatar of Vishnuuuuuu_

_Let us be married foreverrrrrrrrr!_

Asami sighed.

_Oh, I'm Sita, Sita, sluttiest of sluts,_

_But Rama, I think that you just might be enough_

_Though I crave that slutty stuff_

_You certainly do seem quite buff_

_To satisfy the urging in my m -_

Tenzin groaned and covered his eyes. "Korra!"

"It's integral to the character!"

"No!"

* * *

It was weird being popular again.

Oh, she had been popular before, for a while. As the Avatar the popular girls had taken possession of her. That had lasted until they realized that Korra said what was on her mind bluntly, with none of the talent for subterfuge and cruel lies carefully tailored to the individual weaknesses of lesser girls that were so in among the popular crowd. And so they had dropped her unceremoniously, and she had tumbled down through the social pecking order until her Avatar training swept her to the side and out of it altogether.

Now she was back. Her take-down of Little Miss Perfect Rich Princess Asami Sato had become legendary, and the apparent interest Mako, champion boxer and certified hunk showed in her play had turned Korra from someone beyond untouchable into cool, once more. For now. But it was nice and strange to have people talking to her, complimenting her script, asking her about her relationship with Mako, and she had just laughed and rolled her eyes and said little while hinting at a great deal more, and by the end of the week the entire school was convinced something was going on between the champion boxer and the Avatar.

Then there were the reporters. The White Lotus had sheltered her, Korra knew, but she hadn't realized how much until news that the Avatar was writing a new play broke. Reporters mobbed her when she walked out the school doors with Tenzin at her side. Flashes of light blinded her and she was deafened by a dozen different questions shouted at her from every direction. She and Tenzin pushed through the throng of journalists, clawing a path to the street.

"Sorry!" Korra kept shouting. "It's still a work in progress but I'll answer your questions later, I promise!"

"What imbalance in the world is this play addressing?" one reporter shouted, thrusting a microphone in her face.

"It's just spelling practice!" Korra shouted back.

"What is the play about?" demanded another. "Can you give us any details?"

"It's just the typical Diwali story!"

"Which one?"

"We're sort of just acting like there's only one!"

There was a great "Aaaah!" and much scribbling. Another microphone was shoved in her face. "So this play teaches us to see past the superficial differences that divide us to the true unity of the human race!"

"Yes!" Korra shouted. "Also rap battles!"

"Because just as the lyrics of one line mirror the lyrics of the next, so too do the lives of one generation mirror the next?"

"Sure!"

Finally they broke through. Tenzin positioned himself and shouted at her to flee.

"Tenzin, I can't leave you!"

"It's the only way!" he shouted as the reporters overtook him. "Fly, you fool!"

Korra turned and ran, sprinting down the paved streets and into a side alley where they wouldn't follow her. She was out of breath a disappointingly short time later, but it was enough and they were gone.

Waiting in front of her house was a tall man in an expensive-looking suit. He was flipping through something that looked a lot like the latest script of her play.

"Who are you?" Korra demanded. "Where'd you get that script?"

The man looked up. He had a thin, split mustache, and his eyes were wild and excited. "What script? Oh, you mean this script. Got a bootlegged copy for half price from a guy I know who sells slam lyrics on the down-low. Yessir, it's quite a read, all right. Act Three is where things really get hot. Rama is mad, hoo boy, Ravana is fierce and terrifying, and Sita is...slutty. Very, very slutty. But it's one hell of a play, no doubt about it, none at all."

Korra grinned despite herself. She had never heard such unqualified praise before, at least, not so freely given. Tenzin's critiques, mild as they were, flowed constantly and wore her down.

The man flipped to the first page. "And you must be...ah! Korra! The writer, if I'm not mistaken. I'm Varrick, Varrick Industries. We do a Varrick good job!"

She gripped his hand. "Nice to meet you, Varrick. I'm Avat -"

"Nope!" he shouted. "Don't care, not important, forgotten it already, what were we talking about?" He looked at the page again. "Oh yeah. Korra! Nice to meet you. I'm Varrick, Varrick Industries. Varrific products at a Varified low price!"

"Wow," she said, wincing as he wrung her hand. "How can I help you, Varrick?"

"Oh, I was just reading your play, this play here, almost at the end. Will Sita choose Rama or her own unquenchable lust for the beasts of the forest? No, don't tell me! Such a thrilling tale. You, kid, you wrote this?"

Korra rubbed her numb hand. "Yeah, I did all right. It's a work in progress."

"It's a work of genius is what it is. I know talent when I see it, and you've got talent, kid! Like me, I was a nobody, and no one ever thought that I could amount to anything. But I was smart and I worked hard and I created the Varrick Machine and now children across the country can enjoy the sweet delight of VarriKotton Kandy and I'm super rich! That's the kind of talent I'm sensing here."

"Of course," he flipped a page, "It is a work in progress, and I know exactly what that's like. I didn't create the Varrick Machine on my first try! But with a little help this play could be the biggest thing since...well, VarriKotton Kandy!"

He leaned down and the corners of his mouth pulled up, revealing two rows of gleaming white teeth.

"How about a business deal, kid?"


End file.
